YinYang
by Menerothiel
Summary: Hellboy II Movieverse. Incest. "They shared a bond. Together or apart, they revolved around each other—although no one knew who was the sun and who was the planet." Nuada and Nuala, after his return.


Yin-Yang

They shared a bond. Together or apart, they revolved around each other—although no one knew who was the sun and who was the planet. Nuada and Nuala, after his return.

- - -

She had felt her breath stutter to a stop when he strode into the chamber proper, head high and back straight. His yellow hair hung straight and perfect—of course it did, exactly like hers. His eyes caught the room at large, the amber orbs sliding past the assembled nobility like oil on water—until they caught hers. Hard as rock and bright as fire, they were, and her heart broke its rhythm.

When he began to challenge their father, and when he finally drew his blade through the Elfking's chest, still his eyes burned her. She could feel their heat even as she drew a hood about her face and ran.

How could she ever truly leave him? He was her brother.

- - -

She looked as he remembered—soft and golden and radiant, like a flower, like his sister. It hurt him in the palace room to leave her by the side, as she professed her stance at their father's side. He caught her eye when he entered, felt the press of her gaze on his back when he rose against his King.

It was after he snapped the gold piece from his father's belt that he felt the weight of her eyes gone, along with her presence. The whisper of cloth on stone was the only sign she left. He touched his hand to his right arm shield, touched the delicate green bracelet that had been a parting gift, a secret. His fingers burned, and he clenched them around his blade.

Nuala was the secret, the lodestone, the piece on which all turned. He already had a piece of her—she was his sister, after all. They couldn't be parted even with a knife.

- - -

He had been the one to undress her from the gown she had been wearing. It was a rare moment, stolen from the jaws of the creature Nuada was becoming, where they could pretend she and he were still at the palace, before the human wars, before his departure. He touched her flesh with firm hands, callused from the leather handles of his swords, slid his fingertips along the grooves in the skin of her arms, abdomen, face. He held his hands against her jaw, tenderly, lifted her face up. Still it was Nuala, not Nuada, who began their first kiss in centuries. She clutched his shoulders, lifted the heavy jacket and untied the belt at his waist.

There was no bed, no romantic night. They stood in the middle of the room, bare, clutching each other as if a single wind could make them fall. From a distance, they seemed a single golden tree, the mixed strands of their hair falling soft and pale like a dying willow's branches. For a moment, she thought of Abraham and his sweet, subtle blue smile, and he turned his mind to the glittering golden crown that was almost complete.

Each twin felt the tremble of the other's thoughts, and slowly lifted their head, sadness ghosting through the matched faces.

Nuala stepped back, lifting the yellow gown from the ground and drawing it closed on her body.

Nuada watched her, with the sadness and resignation of a man seeing something he could not have. Perhaps even then, he predicted his failure; perhaps he merely understood that nothing could stand the test of time. Not even love.

In the end, as Nuada takes hold of her arm and brings her out to the open, mechanical chamber, Nuala walks close to him—more closely than needed—and presses her lips to his shoulder.

It is all she can do. In the end, the creature devours the prince, leaving her with a knife in hand and a resolution to make.

Nothing could stand the test of time. Not even love.

- - -

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this piece. It might be revised later, after I have the chance to see the movie a few more times, but hopefully this is not too inaccurate. Please leave comments about mistakes, I would greatly appreciate it.

Remember: constructive criticism makes the young writers of today the great writers tomorrow. Every little bit can help!

Have a nice day.


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